


Initiation

by NiCad



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiCad/pseuds/NiCad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Springer's initiation to the Wreckers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Initiation

_If you wanna run cool_  
_You’ve got to run on heavy, heavy fuel_

Dire Straits, [Heavy Fuel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEUw1t8RcZ0)

* * *

Impactor looked at the young triple changer, pondering. Sometimes he wondered if he’d done the right thing, bringing Springer on. All of the other Wreckers were damaged, imperfect in their own ways, but ways that made them suitable for this kind of work. Roadbuster’s amazing, though single-minded, proficiency with weapons was too unnerving for most Autobots to handle. Whirl’s blend of insanity, anger, and political rage set him as much of a misfit as anyone. Scoop’s fanaticism, religious and otherwise, tended not to play well outside of contexts where extremism of one sort or another was required. Impactor’s own history as a miner (and let’s face it, former friend of Megatron) put a black mark on his ticket.

But not Springer.

Springer had nothing against him.

At least, nothing that (nearly) anyone else knew about. Not one for letting the past haunt him too much, Impactor shoved the thought aside.

Springer was young, energetic, confident, and wanted nothing more than to advance the Autobot cause. Impactor could find nothing _wrong_ with him, and that, therein, was the problem. Why had he put his name in? What was he _doing_ here?

Sooner or later, that damn idealism was going to be a problem.

Even now, the big green mech was winding the others up, telling some story about how he’d discovered some Decepticon cell doing such-and-such atrocity and he walked in there and incapacitated every single one of them and oh god Impactor couldn’t take it anymore. Sure, the troops were psyched at the story, but getting them to focus on all the mundane crap that had to get done before the next mission was going to be a hell of a chore, now. He’d have to learn how to wield his new little green circuit booster so he only gave his pep talks just before go-time. Until then, he’d have to see if there was any way of dialing this guy back at all.

His optics narrowed as an idea occurred to him, and he cleared his throat in the way that said “Everyone shut up and listen.”

It worked, as always. The pumped reactions to the newcomer’s story died away, all optics on Impactor, the only sound coming from the usual ambient hum of Debris.

“It’s time for Springer’s initiation.”

Whirl leaped off of the table he’d been sitting on, claws held aloft in jubilation. “Finally! I’ll go get the chains…”

“No need for those,” Impactor interrupted, searching for Springer’s reaction out of the corner of his optic. Attentive. A little wary. But still maddeningly confident. Was there a way to shake it? “I want everyone’s weapons on the table. Right now.”

“ _All_ of our weapons?” Roadbuster asked.

“Just what you’ve got on you at the moment to start with. Power cells for any onboard weapons. You can each grab one more from the weapons locker if you want.”

A great clatter ensued as on-hand blasters were brought out of sub-space and offered up. About half of the mechs went downstairs to retrieve additional ordnance, Roadbuster returning with what Impactor knew was only a middle-of-the-road piece from his collection, obviously unsure of what was going to happen and aiming for the midrange of possibilities. When all was said and done, an admirable pile of weaponry lay on the table, Springer on one side of it, Impactor and everyone else on the other.

“You too, Springer. Everything you’ve got on you. On the table.”

Springer stepped up to the table, that damned half-smile still pulling at one corner of his mouth, and offered up his weapons. First pulling his large blaster from subspace, then reaching back to draw his saber, then, for good measure, each of the charge packs from his arm-mounted guns. That done, he met Impactor’s gaze. “What now?”

“Somebody go get a bucket.”

Low murmurs spread through the group as Impactor’s intent dawned on the Wreckers. Impactor turned to face them. “Did I stutter? Somebody get a goddamn bucket!”

Rack dashed off and returned with the requested item in short order.

Impactor held the bucket out to Springer. “Empty all of the power cells into it.”

The smile was gone. But the determination was still there. Springer took the bucket, placed it on the table, and emptied the cells from his own weapons into it.

The room was silent.

Debris hummed in the background.

Springer looked at the weapons on the table, then looked up to the optics of his new comrades. He’d heard the rumors about Wrecker initiation ceremonies. No one ever said anything about the specifics of the ordeals themselves, but tales of the aftermath were told in great detail. Hospitalizations were not uncommon. No one had died yet, but the looks on everyone’s faces indicated that they were now pondering the possibility of witnessing the first Wrecker to literally kick the bucket before his first mission.

Springer returned his gaze to the pile of weapons on the table, took a deep breath, and reached for the nearest one. The clicks and snaps of the blaster being disassembled were sharp and crisp in the quiet room. The wet sound of the power cell being poured into the bucket was a visceral splash to everyone’s audios. Springer worked quickly on the others, methodical, precise, not spilling a drop. Impactor watched Springer’s hands, moving without hesitation, never once shaking.

Finally, Springer reached for the last weapon. The mid-sized cannon that Roadbuster had brought up from the locker. Despite its enormous size, he picked it up and placed it closer to work on, rather than dragging it over. He removed the power cell from it; its volume would double what was already in the bucket. Indeed, the pour seemed to last forever. When it was finally done, Springer lifted his optics in Roadbuster’s direction. “Thanks a lot, gashole.”

The tension broke for a moment as everyone laughed, but there was no mistaking the anxiety in it, and the mirth was short-lived. When things had quieted down, Springer’s hands went to the table, optics meeting Impactor’s once again. “So.”

“You know what to do.”

Good Primus, Impactor was really going to make him do it. The color drained from Springer’s face as his holding tanks clenched.

Finally, a crack in the green armor. Now to see how far he could pry it open. “Yes, newbie, you’re supposed to drink it.” Impactor crossed his arms over his chest. “In case you’ve all forgotten, we’re in the middle of a war. In case you’ve all forgotten, we’re usually on the front lines of it. In case you’ve all forgotten, sometimes that means low rations. I’m curious…” he paused, leaned over, stirred the contents of the bucket with his harpoon, then pulled it out, coated with the sickening purple sludge of weapons-grade energon. He ran a finger along the edge, pulling a viscous string of it off as if to examine it. “If the only thing left to live off of was the power cells of our own weapons, could we do it? Would it work? Would it pull us through just long enough? Or would it kill us before we could get resupplied? I’ve watched Springer drink most of you under the table already. If this kills him, we know it won’t work. If it doesn’t kill him, maybe there’s hope for the rest of you.”

He turned back to his new recruit. “So, Springer. Now’s your chance to take one for the team.”

The implication was clear. If you wanted to be a Wrecker, you had to be willing to die for them. Springer’s optics met Impactor’s. On the one hand, that the leader of the Wreckers was going to order him into harm’s way was a given. The strong possibility of getting killed on any one mission was simply part of the deal. On the other, he had to trust that Impactor wouldn’t get him killed over something stupid, and the semi-cannibalistic act of drinking everyone else’s highly volatile weapons cells was all kinds of stupid.

Impactor’s hand tightened at his side and Springer’s optics flickered at the motion. He wasn’t sure if Impactor had meant for him to see it, but he was almost positive – a neural inhibitor injector. Rack must have brought it along with the bucket. If this little experiment with the weapons-grade started to turn south, Impactor could use it to put him in stasis lock and halt the process. He allowed a shadow of a smile to return. _I know what you’re up to._

Impactor’s expression remained stony. _Get on with it._

Springer brought his hands to the bucket and lifted it up. The fumes stung his face and optics and he had to turn away. Primus, it smelled horrible. He forced himself back to it, got as far as the edge of the bucket and bit down on it, giving himself some time to get used to the idea of what he was about to do. Finally, he forced his jaw open and tipped the bucket back to get a mouthful and set it back down.

He swallowed it as fast as he could, groaning and leaning over as it burned its way down his throat to his holding tanks. It tasted even worse than it smelled. He took another mouthful before the first one could work all the way through.

In hindsight, that was probably a mistake.

Suddenly unsure of his balance, he placed his hands on the table, grayness beginning to creep in from the edges of his vision, and his audios began to ring. His mouth hung open weakly. His body began the rhythmic seizing that was typical of regurgitation, and he did not fight it. With little resistance, the weapons-grade came burning back up. To his credit, he managed to get it all back into the bucket it came from. The relief was only momentary as the rations he had previously consumed that day joined the contents of the bucket. That was probably to be expected.

Then he wretched again.

Blood energon, this time. Shrapnel. Coolant.

Uh oh.

His legs finally gave out and he collapsed to the floor in a series of clanks. His vision was reduced to a pinhole, his audio nothing but a shrill whine. He saw nothing but the floor, smeared with pink, chunks of his own innards scraping against the palms of his hands as he struggled to find purchase against a surface that seemed to spin around him. The burning spread from his gut, throat, and head to the rest of his body and his breathing labored through saturated filters as he continued to seize.

He had the vague impression of being turned over. A purple and gold figure above him.

And, finally, nothing.

* * *

“What the hell is this?” Kup motioned to Springer’s inert form on the medical berth as Impactor entered the room.

“What’s it look like?”

“It looks like a hazing ritual pushed too far, is what it looks like.” Kup closed the distance between them, leaning into Impactor’s space. “You know when the last time he had an overdose-induced overhaul was?”

“No.”

“Never. That’s when. He always had enough sense to not push that kind of thing too hard. He’s with you less than a week and he lands at the Hub in a stasis tube with all his fuel lines burned through? That’s what the Wreckers do with their free time these days?”

“Look, I wanted to see what he could handle. Guy like him deserves more than a softball initiation. He’ll get over it. And when he does, people will be talking about it for decacycles. He’s already a legend for surviving the worst Wreckers initiation on record and he hasn’t even fought his first battle with us yet. You should be thanking me.”

Kup pointed a finger and pushed it into Impactor’s shoulder. “He’s a good kid. Don’t you dare waste him.” Giving Impactor’s shoulder a final push, he left the room.

* * *

Static.

Again, the blur of purple and gold.

The image finally resolved into Impactor’s form, sitting before Springer. He tilted his head, gently poking his harpoon at Springer’s shoulder. “You awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Welcome back, bubbleguts.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Couple weeks.”

“Muh. Hope your question about surviving on weapons-grade is answered to your satisfaction.”

“Yeah. Ethics committee at Kimia had a few words about it too. The Misuse of Weapons Act is now a thing thanks to you. Congratulations.”

“Happy to serve.” Springer’s tone indicated anything but.

“Anyway, you’re going to be here another couple weeks before they let you out. Mostly rehab. You’ll be back in shape for the next mission we have lined up, so you won’t miss anything.”

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“Look, Springer…” Impactor paused, gathering his thoughts at the younger mech’s lack of enthusiasm. “You’ve never been challenged before. Everything’s been easy for you. Guys like you get bored with that. You’re not happy until you’re pushed past your limit.”

“That’s Rung’s write-up on me?”

“Not in so many words, but I can read between the lines. If you were happy playing by the rules, you’d still be working for Ultra Magnus.  Kup can’t stop crowing about how you were his best cadet. You’ve already met and exceeded every expectation they ever had for you. The truth is, you’ve outgrown them.”

Springer lifted an optic ridge, but remained silent.

“You’re different from the rest and you know it. You want to see what you can do. You want a challenge. You’ve wanted one from the beginning. That’s why you put in for the Wreckers.” Impactor paused, allowing the silence to force Springer’s response.

Finally, “You’re not wrong.”

Impactor nodded and leaned back. “That’s about where my capacity for pep talks ends, so I’m gonna’ head back to Debris. We have a few things to prep for the next mission, and we’ll swing by to pick you up on the way when you’re ready.” He got up and headed for the door, pausing before leaving the room. “The rest of the troops send their best.” Again, Impactor waited.

Springer met his gaze, an edge of defiance in his optics. Damaged, but not broken. Bruised, but not beaten. Properly dialed back. “I’ll be there.”

Impactor nodded one last time. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> A line in Zero Point mentioned that Springer's initiation involved a bit of a recovery, and that the ceremony was banned under the Misuse of Weapons Act. It didn't say anything about the initiation being individualized, but I thought it might be worth a look.


End file.
